


Banana Pancakes

by deciding



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cohabitation, Cohabiting Co-President Nominees, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Post-2x16, Pre-2x17, Sammy the Serpent, bughead - Freeform, fairy godfathers, it's basically a fluff fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14125131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciding/pseuds/deciding
Summary: Jughead had reached new heights because he had Betty, consistently and irrevocably. However long the cohabitation lasted (because undoubtedly Alice Cooper wouldn’t make it through the year without getting her baby girl back), in the tough moments of Poison and Def Leppard on loop, FP would think of his son and assumed future daughter-in-law in their booth, in love and ready to take on a battle against corruption and greed in honor of Riverdale’s south side.--Bliss comes to Sunnyside Trailer Park.





	Banana Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is being posted on the day of 2x17's original airing, in the morning prior to the episode airing. Ambiguous details about the events of the episode are speculative only based on the preview clips. There are no spoilers here.
> 
> Special thanks to [Em11134](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em11134) for keeping me grounded to my headcanons and to [theatreofexpression](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatreofexpression) for the valuable input.

FP Jones, much like his son Jughead, basked in the glory of being comfortable in his own home. His usual way when he woke up on weekdays was to trek from his room to the bathroom in an inelegant fashion, in nothing but his underwear, to splash water on his face and take a leak. FP had reacclimated to the comforts of the rusty old trailer he called home since his release from jail due to a lack of admissible evidence of his involvement in Jason Blossom’s murder. But when the very definition of home was amended to include one Betty Cooper, adjustments had to be made. 

It would be inappropriate for FP to run into his son’s girlfriend (whom he and Pop Tate jokingly referred to as his daughter-in-law, though he imagined Hal and Alice would not take kindly to the sentiment, regardless of the state of their divorce proceedings), in the hallway or the kitchen, in boxers given to him by his own estranged wife. 

So there was a new routine. FP begrudgingly trudged to the bathroom in an old pair of track pants and a t-shirt with Jellybean’s fingerpaints on it, to take care of his early morning routine of washing his face and slicking his hair back while still half-asleep. He retreated back to his room and got dressed into his white-on-white Chock’lit Shoppe uniform before making his way out into the kitchen where the light was already on. The smell of something pastry-like wafted in the air and Betty sung along softly to a song that played through the speakers of Jughead’s laptop. 

FP padded into the kitchen unceremoniously, hopeful his footsteps were audible enough that Betty wouldn’t be startled. 

She looked up and stopped what she was doing to clasp her hands together when she greeted, “Good morning, FP! Do you want some breakfast?” 

FP nearly snorted. Betty Cooper was the perkiest 16-year-old he’d ever met, other than her own mother, of course. FP would soon leave the trailer and walk over to his breakfast shift at Pop’s. In the past, he’d attended to Jughead and Betty at the diner for a morning meal. But the tides had changed, and she stood before him in his home—her home for the time being—asking if she could serve some of the breakfast she’d made. 

“Hey, Betty,” FP croaked, his voice tired. “It smells good in here.” 

“I made banana pancakes and bacon.” Betty moved over to the coffee maker with a mug in hand. “And the coffee’s fresh!” 

“You’re spoiling us, Betty,” FP told her. “You know you don’t have to do this every morning. You oughta sleep in and let Jug tinker around in here for once.” 

“I don’t mind.” Betty shrugged as she set down the mug she’d filled with coffee in front of FP. “And I hope you and Jughead both know how much I appreciate you letting me stay here. I know it’s not exactly ideal.” 

“Believe me, Betty,” FP said right before he took a piece of bacon from the communal plate, “the trailer has not been this well cared for in…well…ever.” 

Less than a fortnight had passed since Betty moved in and she’d made a world of difference around the Jones household. It was so clean that FP didn’t think about what kind of mold he was trekking in every time he walked barefoot on the cheap linoleum of the the kitchen floor. Betty had rearranged the throw pillows—which neither he nor Jughead had even been aware they had—in the living room to make it look more post-modern chic and less worthless antique. She’d come in with a backpack full of Bath & Body Works aromatherapy candles and put them on all the newly clean raised surfaces around the trailer. The flannel mountains of laundry had been diminished to hills; folded and stored into their respective drawers. She’d even put FP’s toolbox to good use and fixed the kitchen sink, eliminating the need for the bucket under the sink to catch leaking water from the drain pipe. 

Betty had set out dried flowers she called _potpourri_ and, to make herself feel more at home, framed pictures of her with her sister, and of her niece and nephew from their visit. FP didn’t mind the display of Jason Blossom’s spawn in his home so much because Betty had made sure to put some baby pictures of Jughead and Jellybean out as well, along with a picture of Jughead with his best friends—Betty and Archie—even if Betty and Jughead weren’t on very good terms with Archie while Hiram Lodge pulled his strings. 

FP was pretty sure Betty was perfect, even in the way she was sentimental, though Jughead had cautioned him against calling her that. 

In the vein of FP’s former fashion, Jughead strolled into the kitchen barefoot, in boxers and an ‘S’ t-shirt. His blue eyes squinted against the harsh overhead light but, FP noted, he went right for his girl. Jughead hugged Betty from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist. He kissed behind her ear and then her cheek, and when she turned her head, their lips met in a quick morning peck. Neither of them spoke in the exchange but the looks of affection they gave each other spoke volumes. 

It was surely FP’s duty as the adult in the house, and as Jughead’s father, to chastise them. He needed to be better about implementing the rules of Jughead being a gentleman and sleeping on the couch while Betty slept in his room—alone. He needed to speak up and remind them that the walls were thin, that he shouldn’t have to turn up the volume of his walkman on his favorite Blue Öyster Cult record to drown out the patterned sound of Jughead’s squeaky bed and the knock of the headboard against the wall that separated their rooms. 

But FP was a sucker for young love, for what he’d once had and could never make last. And he honestly thought it was nice to see genuine affection and appreciation in his home again, rather than the frustration and anger, the yelling and empty threats Jughead had gotten used to before his mom up and left with his little sister. So FP let the kids be, until Betty shooed Jughead away to take a seat at the table. 

When Jughead’s plate was piled with a triple stack of banana pancakes and all the crispiest pieces of bacon, Betty offered, “More bacon for you, FP?” 

FP took a long sip of coffee and ruffled at Jughead’s bedhead. “Thanks, Betty, but I think I should get going. Pop Tate has an appreciation for punctuality.” 

“Oh.” Betty nodded. “Okay.” 

“Don’t you worry though, I’m sure this boy is keen to chow down the fine meal you’ve prepared.” FP gestured at Jughead, whose cheeks protruded like those of a chipmunk, full of fluffy pancakes. “You’re already so far ahead of the learning curve to know that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” 

“Now that’s not true,” Betty argued with a smile. “It’s through his chest, and ribs, and lungs.” 

“Okay. Whatever you say, honey.” FP chuckled as he straightened his red bow tie. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“You’re welcome,” Betty answered casually. 

“See you, dad,” Jughead managed between bites of his food and a gulp of coffee. 

FP stood and went to put on his black leather jacket that donned the double-headed Serpent on the back. 

“Wait!” Betty said in earnest, causing both of the Jones men to look at her. “Don’t forget your lunch.” 

She grabbed one of three brown paper lunch bags from beside the microwave, labeled _FP_ in her loopy handwriting. She walked over to the entryway and waited until FP had slipped into his shoes before holding it out to him. 

“Oh, Betty, you didn’t have to,” FP said sheepishly. 

“There’s no question that we all love the comfort of Pop’s meals, but you can’t just alternate between tuna melts and cheeseburgers every single day,” Betty countered. “That’s not very nutritious. I made us all chicken parmesan stuffed zucchini with homemade marinara—Nana Cooper’s recipe. You and Jug both need to consume more servings of vegetables.” 

FP wanted to argue that fried bacon for breakfast wasn’t very nutritious, but Betty was looking at him expectantly and Jughead was shooting daggers at him with his eyes, like he was afraid Betty would break out into a textbook explanation of the food groups if FP didn’t take the bag. Graciously and gratefully, FP accepted the thoughtful meal that the new houseguest had woken up at dawn for in order to prepare. He bid the kids farewell and in the most authoritative voice he could muster up, instructed them not to be late for school. 

Later, when FP sat down for lunch in the back alley on one of the clean milk crates turned upside down next to the recycling bin, he unfurled the top of the paper bag where it had been folded over and moved its contents onto his lap. Along with the Pyrex container of zucchini boats was a scrap of pink notepaper. 

If it were even possible to be mad at Betty, who’d brightened up the trailer both literally and figuratively, her gesture of goodwill would have canceled out any anger. 

 _Have a great day_ , she’d written. And then, in parentheses: _sorry for the noise._

 

\-----

 

“You...you don’t look good, FP.” 

Without looking up from the milkshake glass he was polishing, FP grunted at Pop Tate’s demeaning greeting. He fired back sarcastically, “We can’t all look as dashing as you all the time, Tatey. Some of us are mere mortals.” 

Pop Tate laughed a laugh that gurgled in his throat and his smile lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled up. “Are things not going well, living under the same roof as the Nighthawk and Nancy Drew?” 

“On the contrary,” FP shook his head, “things are going too well…at least for them.” 

For the better part of the winter, Betty and Jughead had been a constant source of drama for FP and Pop Tate to muse over. Whenever Betty and Jughead were in the diner together, FP and Pop Tate would converge at the front counter and watch the body language between the two as they conversed in a booth. Whether they were together or broken up, there seemed to be a lot of hand-holding. There were lovelorn looks that the two diner attendants tried to decipher as well as bowed heads topped with a beanie and a ponytail, sometimes followed by giggles. The elder Jones and Pop Tate cheered for the latter and had talked about hatching a plan to deceive the couple when they were broken up in order to get them back together. The two men never really did follow through and interfere, but they fancied themselves good matchmakers—fairy godfathers, even—if it ever came down to it. 

But winter had parted way for an early spring, and Betty and Jughead had been nothing but in bloom. FP wondered if it was the chaos around them that provided them with momentum, that kept them together and kept them solid. They were part of a cover-up involving a dead body and a sunken vehicle. Betty had moved into the trailer for a related reason, because of Alice’s son, Chic. 

Jughead and Betty flourished together rather than waiting for a moment that might never arrive. They anchored each other. Since getting caught up in the cover-up, they’d put the work into their relationship in order to rely on each other and know without a shadow of a doubt that they could trust each other. 

And not only did they not get sick of each other…evidently, from all the music FP had listened to on his relic of a walkman in the last three weeks, Betty and Jughead couldn’t get enough of each other. 

Pop Tate slapped FP on the back jovially. “That bad, huh?” 

“I don’t know, Pop, you tell me,” FP said as he set down the polished glass and pointed at his face. “You’re the one who noticed my new shiners.” 

The black circles under FP’s eyes were deep and the thin skin there hollowed out. 

“Who knew having Betty Cooper as a daughter-in-law would be such hell on wheels?” Pop Tate gibed. 

FP glared back, though it warmed his heart whenever he or Pop Tate referred to Betty as his daughter-in-law. Just the other day they’d had a thorough conversation about whether she was the future Elizabeth Jones or Elizabeth Cooper-Jones, or if she’d change her name at all. And if she became Elizabeth Cooper-Jones, would Jughead follow suit to become Forsythe Pendleton Cooper-Jones? 

“Say, Pop,” FP spoke again, “you ever live with your daughter-in-law?” 

“You know damn well my kids are too young for that, Jonesy.” 

Pop Tate’s kids were actually in college. But any significant others who’d been home to meet Mom and Pop Tate must not have had the potential of in-laws. Betty and Jughead were in a league of their own in that sense. They were more married than married people. 

“A word of advice, if they’re ever old enough,” FP pointed at the jukebox in the far corner of the diner “you might have to move that thing to your house to drown out the noise. And make sure you remove all the tracks with potential for love ballads and slow jams!” 

Pop Tate used the tongs he was holding to point at FP. With a few nods and a wink, the two men shared a laugh that they felt in their bellies. 

“Well, you may look worse for wear,” Pop Tate said bluntly when they recovered from their laughter, then gestured in the direction of the booth their favorite couple was sitting in, “but just look at them.” 

Betty and Jughead were always busy, that was for sure. There was always an investigation to solve or justice to be had. Their latest project was a doozy: securing the majority vote of the sophomore class as co-presidents in order to maintain a democracy and prevent Veronica Lodge from ascending the throne. They’d barely made the official ballot in the nick of time. But rather than flailing about like chickens with their heads cut off—they were about to take on the most popular girl in school after all—they appeared comfortable and confident about going up against their friend. 

In the booth, their booth, Betty and Jughead were an image of pure coziness. They sat on the same side of the booth, Jughead holding Betty close against his side, her head rested on his shoulder. Over a shared milkshake and a basket of fries, they spoke calmly, endearingly, occasionally exchanging kisses and giggles. They were the same kind of giggles that floated up into the ether of Jughead’s bedroom and carried through the thin walls of the trailer like a warning before FP knew to put his headphones on and jam out to Whitesnake before _other_ noises began. Seeing them in the diner was like a forewarning. He already knew sleep would be scarce again when he retired to bed later that night. 

But his son and Alice Cooper’s girl? They were a vision. To see Jughead’s natural smile and the light alive in his eyes was something FP couldn’t put a price on—not in monetary value, not in sleep hours, not in any way. He loved his son fiercely, and Jughead loved him even when he didn’t deserve it, maybe out of a sense of obligation or maybe because the brooding boy had felt at times that his father was all he had. 

But Jughead had reached new heights because he had Betty, consistently and irrevocably. However long the cohabitation lasted (because undoubtedly Alice Cooper wouldn’t make it through the year without getting her baby girl back), in the tough moments of Poison and Def Leppard on loop, FP would think of his son and assumed future daughter-in-law in their booth, in love and ready to take on a battle against corruption and greed in honor of Riverdale’s south side. 

“Yup,” FP mused out loud to Pop Tate with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “They’re a vision of love, all right.” 

Jughead chose that moment to pick his head up and meet Pop Tate’s gaze. With the flick of his wrist, he moved his empty coffee cup in between his thumb and index finger to signal for a refill. Pop Tate put down the tongs he’d been holding as he nodded at Jughead and reached for the freshly brewed pot from the coffee maker. 

“So,” he asked FP as he walked around the counter, “is it worth it?” 

FP clapped Pop Tate’s shoulder before he sent the older man on his way. “It’s worth it.”

 

\-----

 

Saturday mornings in the Jones trailer were of much slower pace than the weekdays. Neither of the Jones men nor their blonde Cooper houseguest woke at dawn. The spring rains had made their way into Riverdale and the steady downpour of water against the metal shingles of the roof rung out as musical notes, like the head of a mallet against a xylophone. 

In Jughead’s bed, Betty and Jughead snuggled under the heavy flannel comforter. They slowly stirred awake but were content to cuddle in bed for a while. 

“Morning, Juggie,” Betty whispered when Jughead peeked out from under his unruly mop of black hair. 

Jughead’s response was to grunt and pull Betty closer into his chest. Like clockwork, Betty’s cellphone began ringing on the nightstand. It wasn’t her standard ringtone, but instead one Jughead could only describe as Hitchcockian. 

“It’s too early.” Jughead caught Betty’s elbow before she could shift and reach for her phone. “Don’t pick it up.” 

“That horror movie ringtone means it’s Cheryl,” Betty identified the caller. 

“Even more reason not to answer,” Jughead said distastefully. 

“She’d mentioned having an extra Vixens practice this weekend before basketball playoffs start.” 

“It’s a Saturday and it’s raining buckets.” Jughead refused to change his tune. “There’s no need to go outside.” 

For Jughead Jones, who’d gotten lucky enough to wake up next to the only girl he’d ever loved at the ripe age of sixteen, it was hard to want anything else but to lay lazily in bed all day when the whole world fit inside of his arms. 

Betty got him out of bed within the hour with his favorite banana pancakes and the promise of a fresh batch of cookies. Mornings with the Joneses might have been slower on the weekends, but Betty was a Cooper girl, so she didn’t take it any easier when afternoon came. She put the Jones men to work: cracking eggs and stirring batter and rolling out the cookie dough. They were like her little big helpers—on FP’s part, making a mess of the flour all over the kitchen table and even a light dusting in his beard, and on Jughead’s part consuming more cookie dough than he laid out on the sheet to bake—earning equal proportions of slapped hands and kissed cheeks. 

It was after the scrumptious snickerdoodle cookies were baked and cooling that the Jones men presented Betty with a token of appreciation for the work she’d picked up around the house. The gift came in a royal blue box with a lime green bow on top. 

Betty giggled and quipped to Jughead, “This matches Sammy.” 

“Oh, jeez. Come on, Betts,” Jughead scoffed. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

Sammy, or Sammy the Serpent, as he was casually known, was the plush toy FP had won at the county fair one year when the booth attendant had failed to guess his age correctly. It had happened during a time when FP’s drinking was near its peak and anything even remotely snake-related was a turn-off to a five-year-old Jughead. Sammy was six-feet long with plastic googly eyes and a tongue made of velvety red ribbon, the sections of his body alternating between sections of green and blue from head to tail. FP had hoped to boost a young Jughead’s affinity for the Serpents by giving him an obnoxiously cute snake plush toy, but instead the boy had banished it to the laundry closet where it remained even after all the years gone by. 

Betty shook the box and felt some rattling against the sides. “What is it?” 

“It’s a…a…” FP struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t give anything away. “It’s a safety measure.” 

Wordlessly, Betty raised an eyebrow and quickly undid the ribbon before taking the lid of the box off. There was no tissue (hence the rattling when she shook the box) to conceal the gift from her wide green doe eyes. 

“Oh,” she said as a smile grew on her face. “ _Oh_.” 

“You and Jughead are so busy, especially now with the Cooper-Jones campaign at school. And you’ve been walking everywhere,” FP stated. “Jughead and I thought you could use this, to get around faster to the places you need to be, especially while you’re living on this side of town.” 

Betty pulled the round, matte finish object out of the box and examined it more closely. It was a motorcycle helmet. She hadn’t ridden on the back of Jughead’s motorcycle since the day Fred Andrews had been rushed to surgery at Riverdale General, partly because of the time they’d spent broken up, and more largely in part to the fact that they only had Jughead’s helmet. She’d never been put at ease knowing that borrowing Jughead’s helmet meant he would be riding without one, so even when he’d offered after the desperate day at the hospital, she’d refused to get on the back of his bike again. She opted to hold his hand or be arm in arm with him as they trudged through the snow. 

Running her hand over the black matte finish of the helmet, Betty noticed there were grooves in the top coat of the paint. When she looked closer, she saw a design had been etched into the surface. But unlike the crown Jughead had haphazardly carved into his helmet, Betty’s new helmet had a pattern of roses—much like the designs seen in lace bodices—all the way around the perimeter like a border. 

Before Betty could ask about it, Jughead told her, “Fangs made it pretty for you.”

“Fangs?” she echoed. “Fangs Fogarty did this?” 

Jughead nodded. “You’ve seen how perfect he keeps his hair, right? He’s all about aesthetic.” 

Envisioning Fangs as an artist, with a beret perched perfectly sideways on top of his head, and an inked quill in his hand as he drew in a Moleskine sketchbook was comical, though not unbelievable. She’d been getting to know Jughead’s inner circle of the teen Serpents—namely Fangs and Sweet Pea—since moving into Sunnyside Trailer Park and they each had eclectic interests to match their spirited personalities. 

Betty set the helmet down on the table and wrung her hands together over her heart. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.” 

Despite herself, she _did_ know what to do. She walked over to FP and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you so much, FP.” 

“Ah…it was pretty much Jughead’s idea. And thank you, Betty, for everything you’ve been doing to help out around here,” FP replied modestly. “Know that you’re always welcome here, and you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. No worries.” 

She hugged FP again with the kind of hug she’d grown accustomed to giving Jughead and Archie her whole life, with full force and full of her Betty Cooper charm. 

“Hey,” Jughead interjected into the moment by poking Betty just above her elbow. “Don’t I get some? It was my idea.” 

Both FP and Betty chuckled, then Betty was in Jughead’s arms, hands clutched between his shoulder blades and lips pressed to the crook of his neck. 

“I love it,” Betty spoke against Jughead’s skin. 

FP saw the goofy, lovesick smile that appeared on Jughead’s face and he had to refrain from verbally cooing. He wished Pop Tate could bear witness to the moment that had unfolded, knowing it would have tugged at his boss’s heartstrings. 

“Kids,” FP suggested, “why don’t you take Betty’s new headgear for a test drive?” 

With their hug over, Betty and Jughead stood beside each other, and Betty had both hands looped around one of Jughead’s arms. 

“What do you say, Juggie?” she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder. “It stopped raining outside.” 

Jughead couldn’t maintain a strong front or keep up any semblance of a poker face when it came to Betty. She was really the only person he wanted to ride with. He was a goner before she even asked. 

“I suppose it has,” he agreed. “I’ll just grab my jacket.” 

FP waited until they were out the door, leather jackets and helmets in tow, before chuckling to himself. They’d left him on his own with the freshly baked batch of cookies.

 

\----

 

In front of the trailer, with the chin strap of her helmet snapped into place, and Jughead’s motorcycle revved and ready to go, Betty looked back at the steps leading up to the metal living quarters she’d called home for the last four weeks. FP stood poised at the landing, leaned over the railing. Betty signaled to Jughead to hold on a moment. 

She adjusted the straps of her backpack on her shoulders and approached FP. 

“Sorry, honey,” FP spoke first. “You have to go home.” 

“I know,” she acknowledged with a sigh. 

“What I said before, about you staying here, I meant it,” FP went on, “but your mom needs you right now.” 

Betty nodded. She knew that, too. 

The last week had been a whirlwind. The authorities brought up the vehicle that had belonged to the man who’d died in the Cooper kitchen. Compounded with finding out about Chic’s online presence and just how ‘odd’ he really was when she was left to deal with him all alone in her big, empty house, Alice had to find a way to get him out of town. It had been a traumatic ordeal for Alice when Chic threatened Betty. 

Even Sweet Pea and Fangs, who’d come to friendly terms with Betty, had gotten involved when asked by Jughead. They broke down the red door of the Cooper residence and took control of the situation before things went from awry to tragic. 

So Chic was gone. Alice Cooper was home all alone and desperately in need of reassurance that she’d made the right choice. It was Betty she needed the reassurance from. 

Betty touched FP’s arm and made sure to look him in the eye. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my family. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

FP patted her hand a few times and put on a tight-lipped smile tinged with sorrow. It had been tough for Alice to reach out to her old flame for the second time to get the solution she needed. But no one had a more difficult time with it, and no one was as affected by the consequences of what had transpired, as much as FP. 

“Go on now,” he instructed. “I’ll bring your bag by tonight.” 

The overnight bag Betty had been living out of during her stay with the Joneses was impossible to fit on the back of Jughead’s motorcycle when he already had Betty as a passenger. FP would have to deliver it in his conspicuous mint green truck. 

Betty bid FP farewell with a big bear hug and kiss on the cheek before she hopped onto the back of Jughead’s motorcycle, an act that had become common practice since getting her helmet. Jughead gave a salute to his father before speeding off toward the north side of town. 

The door to the Cooper house was already repaired, everything in its right place, no evidence of the havoc that had occured. Alice greeted her daughter with the promise of a hearty dinner and her favorite dessert. She even told Jughead he was welcome to stay, but one look at the way she was hovering over Betty and Jughead knew to leave the mother and daughter be on their own for the night. 

Betty went up to her room to stow away the contents of her backpack and wash up before the meal was served. Alice had very clearly been in there and tidied up; fresh sheets on the bed and Betty’s stuffed cat, Caramel, rested on top of a pillow. 

After dropping her bag on the desk chair, Betty unzipped it and pulled out the framed pictures of Juniper and Dagwood she’d previously put on display at Sunnyside—FP really didn’t need any further reminder of Jason Blossom; his time spent upstate in jail had taken care of that just fine. Betty had a new picture with her, too, of her hugging Jughead from behind with his head thrown back and rested on her shoulder. In the foreground was half of FP, still in his Pop’s uniform. FP had taken the photo selfie-style on the day Betty and Jughead told him they were up in the Riverdale High polls after their final debate with Veronica. Jughead printed the picture on the last of the photo paper left in the _Blue and Gold_ office, and used one of Jellybean’s old Muppets puzzles to make a bordered frame around it. He cut up a Whyte Wyrm magnet and stuck the pieces on the four corners of the back of the picture so it could be put on display on the refrigerator door. 

Entrusted to Betty’s possession, she placed the picture on her full-length mirror, next to the picture of her and Jughead at the Homecoming dance back in October. She smiled at her reflection when she did it. 

She inspected the surfaces around her room before taking out the last item that remained in her backpack. Her eyes shifted back and forth between her vanity and the curtain rod above the bench seat at the window for a few seconds before settling on the vanity. Betty snickered at the googly eyes and split ribbon tongue that stared back at her once she’d lifted the Jones’ laundry closet charm, Sammy the Serpent, out of her bag by his head. She kept pulling until the lower half of his plush body dragged on the carpet of her bedroom floor. FP and Jughead had both insisted (Jughead especially) that if she liked the stupid carnival prize so much, then she should take it when she returned to her home on the north side. 

Alice knocked on the open door once as Betty was draping the length of the unconventional plush toy in even sections across the top of her vanity mirror. 

“What is that?” Alice frowned. 

Betty smiled back, eyes sparkling with confidence that her mother could do nothing about her new choice of decoration. “This is Sammy.” 

“Elizabeth, it’s _hideous_ ,” Alice said with emphasis. 

With no plan to back down or let her mother have another inch of influence over her Pepto-Bismol explosion of a pink room, Betty took a step back once she was done adjusting the toy snake and simply shrugged. “I think it looks great in here.” 

Alice sighed, crossing her arms over her chest briefly, but relenting just the same. Betty had been home for all of ten minutes. Her daughter would have her snakes, one way or another, if they were what she really wanted. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Alice conceded, on her way out from under the door threshold and back in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll expect you downstairs shortly.” 

“I’ll be right there, Mom,” Betty called after her mother, a grin of a champion on her face. 

She couldn’t wait for Jughead to see Sammy the next time he conveniently borrowed Fred Andrews’ ladder and clammered through the window into her room. Living with the Joneses had been a bright spot in the middle of a tumultuous time. It was an experience she would not soon forget, and one she wanted to associate with banana pancakes and post-coital snuggling in Jughead’s flannel sheets rather than the stench of bleach in her mother’s kitchen and the black holes of nothing she’d seen in her brother’s eyes. Betty liked what Sammy represented, the lighter side of the Serpents – not just gangbangers, but families and friends, _her_ family and friends who took her in and gave her shelter. 

Despite the devil town that was Riverdale, she’d managed to flourish with Jughead together under one roof, their time only cut short when someone needed her more than he did. But no one needed him as much as she did, and not in the way she did. If she could only be so lucky, one day, she hoped, she’d hang Sammy in a laundry room that was theirs, in a home they called forever and permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [Story Notes](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/172339109835/banana-pancakes-extended-story-notes) are on my tumblr: [@jerepars](http://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


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